


Homeward Bound

by Taimane



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: F/M, Heavy Angst, Hurt Phillip Carlyle, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Phillip Carlyle Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2019-11-08 18:52:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17986709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taimane/pseuds/Taimane
Summary: A terrible and vicious assault on a certain junior apprentice ringmaster threatens to destroy the Circus.





	1. Broken

**Author's Note:**

> This story contains Rape/Non-con, assault etc. It is hinted at strongly but I haven't gone into too much detail. Proceed with caution. Also I apologise for the block of text, I have no idea how to space the text. I will edit it when I figure it out.

“This is the greatest show!” The troupe sang in unison, note perfect and held their last position.  
“Perfect, you guys are going to be amazing tonight!” Phillip applauded. “You’ve got a few hours before the show tonight, why don’t you all take some down time. Make sure you’re all back here and dressed by 7.30, show starts at eight sharp.”  
There was a chorus of thank you’s and well done’s as the performers clapped each other on the back and made their way to the exit.  
“You coming Phillip!?” called Charles. Phillip shook his head in response. “Nah, you guys go ahead. I’m going to stick around and make sure the props and safety checks are done. See you later.” Charles waved in response and disappeared behind the curtain which lead towards their living quarters.  
  
  
In truth, Phillip was exhausted. His legs shook and his arms felt like jelly. His head pounded, and his eyes felt like they were burning and would disintegrate at any given moment. He looked up longingly at his office, but even the stairs looked imposing. Since the fire, Phillip had used all of his energy into rebuilding the circus that his friend and partner Barnum had built. The guilt of not being able to handle the protestors which had subsequently led to the fire being set end destroying Barnum’s business and the circus performers homes gnawed away at him constantly. Every waking hour was spent trying to make up for it, and every hour of sleep he managed to snatch was spent dreaming about that night. What he could have done differently, how he could have diffused the situation better before it escalated.  
Phillip glanced at the equipment that needed to be checked and repacked, and decided that it would make a decent distraction anyway. He was fine as long as he kept moving.  
He bent down to pick up Anne and W.D’s training ropes, checking the knots where still tight and pulling on them to ensure they weren’t hanging loose from the ceiling. Satisfied, he started looping them together and lassoed them onto the railings. Raucous laughter filtered through from the living quarters, bringing a smile to his face. Charles, or Lettie had most probably told a lewd joke. His smile turned to a grimace as he strained to bend down and pick up a pole that had fallen on the dusty floor.  
  
The burns on his back and ribs screamed in protest, but he steadfastly ignored the pain. So focussed was he on his task, that Phillip did not notice the five strangers that had slunk into the circus ring behind him.  
“So this is what you left our family for?” came a voice from behind him, causing him to jump and loose grip of the pole. It slid from his grasp and landed on his foot, bouncing on impact. He sucked in a breath and turned to face his father. “Shouldn’t the help be doing that?”  
Philip saw red, he dug his fingers into his hands, and forced himself to remain where he was cautiously glancing up at the four thugs his father had commandeered. They looked more like guard dogs than actual human beings, viciously bearing their teeth and flexing their muscles.  
“Don’t call them that. We are all equal here-” his father cut him off with a sharp laugh. “No you’re not, you idiot boy. You think that you somehow belong here? Well then why are you here, and they’re not? You don’t think they actually accept you?” Robert Carlyle grinned as he saw his son falter.  
  
He knew he had hit a nerve, and continued. “Well think about it, if you have any brains left. They wont accept you because you come from money Phillip. To people like this you will never be equal to them, and people inside our circle see you as an outsider too, a scandal. No one wants anything to do with you, and it’s clear that these freaks don’t want anything to do with you either. Not really. Don’t you see what you’ve done? You’ve thrown away everything, your inheritance, your last name. You’ve disgraced our family for the last time.”  
  
  
Phillip could barley speak, his voice lodged somewhere in his throat in pure, animalistic fear as he tried desperately to hold back the tears. “That’s not true-” he croaked. “Isn’t it?” Phillips father walked slowly towards him, his four thugs following, crunching knuckles. “This is your last chance. Come back into the fold. After a few years all this will be in the past, you will get married and settle down. Continue writing your plays.”  
Phillip shuddered, “What do you mean my last chance? You already disowned me. You can’t go back on that.”  
  
Phillip watched his father smile cruelly, his blue eyes cold as ice as he looked at his only son in such distain. Phillip could feel his body crumble from the inside as it always did when under that stare. It usually led towards pain.  
  
  
Phillip’s father put his hands on top of the black cane that he always carried with him. “If you come back now then your mother will forgive you eventually. If you don’t…" Mr Carlyle glanced at his entourage, hired specifically to intimidate his only son. “Is that your final answer?” asked Robert Carlyle, there was an undertone of danger to his voice which held no mercy. Phillip hesitated, a second too long. "Let me put it this way... I’ll ruin this circus, Barnum, his whole family and these circus freaks. If you do not _come home._ They will have nothing left. And Barnum’s sweet children… what are their names? Helen and Caroline, will be out on the streets with their good for nothing parents and ridiculed, with nowhere to go and nowhere to turn too.” Phillip went white with fear. He loved those two girls, as if they where his own siblings. And he knew that they saw him as an older brother. He could not bare the thought that he would be the reason for their ruin. “You wouldn’t! They're good people, you can’t! I’m your son-!”  
“Very well.” Robert Carlyle took one last look at his son, before turning and flicking a hand at the four thugs he had paid to accompany him.  
They grinned and advanced forward, and he ignored his son’s screams as he left the circus behind him.  
  
  
Phillip couldn’t breathe. Blood was gathering in his mouth, and he struggled against the gag that one of the brutes had shoved in. One of them held his arms behind him as the other three took turns in using him as a punch bag. He could feel blood running down his face, back and legs. He ached all over. But still, he tried to fight, using his feet to try and trip them up. It was the only way he could defend himself, useless as it was. He grunted as a fist collided with his ribs and he felt something crack. Suddenly, he was dropped to the ground. He landed on his knees and one of the men attacking him put a hand on the back of his neck and shoved his face roughly to the floor. Hands pulled at his clothes, ripping them off with such force that he was shocked into submission. His body went limp and he saw stars as he felt hands touching him everywhere.  
  
He heard voices laughing but they sounded very far away, and then suddenly white hot pain. This time he could not stop the tears that fell from his eyes. It took him a while to realise that the screams he could hear where his own. It seemed like eternity that he was held down and completely humiliated, but eventually they seemed to tire and after delivering some final kicks and blows to his unprotected body they left him sprawled on the floor in the middle of the ring, drowning in his own blood and shame.  
  
  
Phillip did not know how long he lay there, his mind was blissfully blank. His arms were skewed at strange angles and his legs felt like lead. He couldn’t open his eyes much more than squinting, and his vision was blurred, but he knew he needed to get up. He had to get up before the troupe found him, the thought of being found like this, like some broken doll tossed to the ground filled him with more shame than anything those thugs had made him feel. He couldn’t even pull his pants up to give himself some dignity, and his cheeks burned with the thought. He coughed and accidentally sucked in some dirt which made his breathing worse. He tried to spit it back out but found the gag prevented it, and he felt himself panic. Somewhere in the distance he heard voices talking and laughing, getting closer and he continued his struggle with more determination than before. He would not let them see him like this, he could not-  
  
  
“Phillip… Oh My God…. _Phillip_ …”  
  
  
He shut his eyes tight, despair coursing through him. ' _No,_ ' he thought, ' _please, no._ '  
Hands were on him again, and he tried to flinch away.  
“Shhh… it’s okay, it’s us Phillip.” He realised that the hands where softer, slimmer and more caring than the ones before as they untied his hands, undid the gag that was biting into his cheeks and rolled him over gently. Anne, he thought as he was finally able to cough out the dirt. He couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes as she pulled his trousers back up and placed her hands on either side of his head.  
  
  
“Get Barnum! And a Doctor, we need the police! Get help _now!_ ” feet where thundering around him, and he felt another presence kneel next to him.  
“Should we move him?” he heard Anne ask. “No, we need to try and stop the bleeding as best we can though.” Lettie, Phillip placed the second voice. He managed to open his eyes while soft warm hands continued to caress his face. Anne looked down at him, tears cascading down her face. Huh, he thought, that’s why my face is wet. She gave him a teary smile. “Hey, you’ll be okay.” Anne sniffed. “We’re going to look after you. Barnum’s on his way, and I think I hear sirens. We’ll get you out of here soon. Just relax and let us do all the work.” Phillip just hummed in response and let his eyes slide closed.  
  
  
Anne had never been more shocked, worried, and angry in her entire life. She had no idea how anyone could inflict such pain onto another human being. She had a feeling that Lettie had similar thoughts flying through her head judging by the way she was wringing the sheets that Charles had brought them through her hands and muttering death threats under her breath. Anne turned to Lettie, “can I have one of those?” she asked. Lettie handed her a red cloth that looked like it had been ripped from the circus main tent. “Will you help me with…” Anne coughed and glanced down at Phillips trousers which had become saturated with blood.  
  
  
Lettie nodded and held Phillips legs apart as Anne paced a cloth in between and pressed. “I don’t think it’s going to help unless we…” she gestured at his pants. Lettie coughed and placed another cloth over his lower half. “Lets at least give him some dignity back.” Her voice wavered and cracked.  
After some awkwardness and a couple of blankets later, the pair managed to stem some of the bleeding. Anne swiped her hair away from her eyes with her arm and looked up at the ceiling, willing the tears away. “Where’s Barnum?” she asked. Lettie shrugged in response, “he’ll be here soon. Constantine and The Lord of Leeds went to get him.” Sirens wailed in the distance “Oh thank god,” breathed Anne. She heard footfalls behind her and glanced around. Her brother skidded to a halt and put his hands on his knees, wheezing. “They’re on their way, all of them.” Gasped W.D. He looked at Carlyle lying crumpled and broken on the ground, and thought he might throw up. He never liked Carlyle before the fire, but since they had developed a rapport. It was clear that Carlyle held his sister in such high regard that he would risk his own life for her. It was so unusual for a white man of Carlyle’s class and colour to act that way that he decided to give the man the benefit of the doubt. And then he gave them all their home back…he would never wish this upon anyone. Especially Carlyle.  
  
  
W.D. knelt down next to his sister, dropping the bucket of water he had brought on the ground with a thud. Some of the water slopped out of the bucket in his haste to help. “Pass me one of those,” he gestured towards the pile of cloths discarded on the floor. Anne handed him one of the cleanest rags. W.D. dunked it into the water and proceeded to gently wipe away some of the blood pooling under Phillip’s chin, and under his eyes. His face was unrecognisable. More footfalls followed, as the rest of the troupe arrived with the Barnum’s, paramedics and police in tow.  
  
  
“Phillip…what…what...” P.T’s laboured breathing stuttered as he struggled to form the words. He’d never seen anything like this, even during his days working on the railroad. He collapsed to his knees beside his best friend and placed a trembling hand on his shoulder. “Phillip, wake up!” P.T shook the fallen ringmasters shoulder and felt a slim hand on his own arm. Charity bend down beside her husband and tried to pull him back. She looked like she was trying not to cry. “We need to step back… The Doctor’s here. Let him help Phillip.” Anne turned to face the shocked troupe, a small audience had begun to crowd Phillip. “Everyone out!” she barked, “ _Now!_ ” she didn’t want Phillip to wake up and realise that everyone had seen what had happened to him. She knew that Phillip was a terribly private person and would have been mortified if he could see the spectacle that this had turned into, and she would not allow it.  
She watched as P.T clutched Phillip’s hand in his own and rested his other on his forehead. The gesture was tender, and it was clear to a blind person that their affections were more than just friends and co-workers. “I can’t leave him…” P.T choked out. “I _can’t._ ”  
  
  
Charity sighed. “We need to move back at least, you don’t want to see this sweetheart,” Charity looked to Anne and Lettie for help. “She’s right Barnum, and Phillip wouldn’t want you to. We can go and get a cup of tea, or maybe something a mite stronger whilst the doctor works and then meet them at the hospital. There’s nothing we can do for him now. Just be there when he wakes up.” Charity smiled at the bearded lady in thanks as her husband nodded in agreement. “See you soon Phillip,” he muttered and wiped his face with his sleeve as he allowed his wife to pull him up and out of the way. The Doctor and his assistant’s soon blocked Phillip from view. “Look after him,” P.T called behind him. The Doctor looked up with kind eyes and replied, “I fully intend to.”


	2. Drifting

The silence in the hospital waiting room was palpable, the tension could be cut with a knife. P.T felt that he could hardly breathe as he paced, clenching and un clenching his fists, his fingernails leaving deep welts in his palms. Every time a door opened in the distance, or footsteps walked passed, he turned hopefully towards the noise, hoping for an update… anything.

The rest of the circus had joined the Barnum’s in the waiting room shortly after their arrival, huddled together in the corner of the room, numb with shock over what had transpired earlier that evening. No one had said anything for hours, except the occasional hiccup or snuffle. Even Charles had been quiet, his face set in a stony expression. He had been staring unblinking at the wall.

_How could they_? He thought. How could anyone hurt someone else like _that_ … it was simply unbelievable, the level of cruelty inflicted on Phillip, an innocent. For gods-sake, he was practically still a child. Phillip had been through so much in his short time on earth, more than anyone should. And now this… It wasn’t fair. It simply wasn’t _fair_. P.T’s eyes burned in anguish and grief for his friend. No… his son.

P.T. jumped as a slim hand rested on his shoulder blades. He leaned into his wife touch and rested his head on her shoulder, slinging a loose arm around her waist. He knew Charity was hurting too, hell, they all were.   
A door opened loudly in the distance, followed by muffled talking and multiple footsteps increasing in volume as they got closer to the waiting room. Everyone looked up as a silhouette appeared on the other side of the frosted glass and the door creaked open.  
The doctor who had been healing Phillip looked to be the same age as P.T, his white coat was stained with blood. His face was thin but he sported a kindly expression, the crinkles and shadows under his eyes giving away his tiredness. His short cropped hair was cut in a military style, his blue eyes looking out from behind smart horn rimmed glasses.

“My name is Doctor Whyle,” he addressed the room. “Are you Mr Carlyle’s family?”   
P.T. stepped forward and shook Dr. Whyle’s hand. “Yes we are,” he said firmly and motioned for Charity to step forward. He needed her. Especially for this.   
If Dr. Whyle was surprised at this, he didn’t let it show. “Phillip was very lucky. We have cleaned him up, taken care of any risks of infection and he did need stitches. With any luck, and a lot of rest and care, he should make a full recovery.”   
The room sighed in collective relief and P.T’s shoulders sagged. “Thank you… thank you so much,” P.T. stumbled over his words in his shock. Charity took over. “Can we see him?” she asked hopefully.   
The Doctor nodded. “Yes of course, but he needs rest, and quiet. He may be asleep, please don’t wake him if he is.” The Doctor nodded and made his exit. He was shortly replaced by a nurse. “This way,” she said and opened the door into the corridor.

The group followed her nervously, staying huddled together as they traipsed through the hospital corridor to Phillips ward. “He’s in here, at the end of the row.” The nurse ushered them in to the nearly empty hospital room. Beds lined the walls on each side, and they took care not to touch anything as they made their way down the room. They gasped collectively as Phillip came into view. He looked very small, wrapped in bandages and his face was barely recognisable, covered in cuts, bruises and welts which had turned an angry dark colour. There was a large, circular bruise around his neck, finger prints already starting to appear in the bruising on his skin. Someone had tried to strangle him.

“…’Flip,” P.T choked as he rushed to his bedside and grabbed his hand.

The muscles in Phillips face twitched, and what was left of his eyes opened into slits. “Hey,” he croaked. “You all okay?”

Charities laugh had a slight hysterical edge to it. “We should be asking you that,” she replied. “How do you feel?”   
Phillip coughed as he tried to sit up, but soon gave up and slumped back down onto his pillow in an exhausted heap. “I’m okay,” he said, smiling weakly.   
“Stop that,” came a voice from behind Charity. Charity stepped aside to let a white faced Anne come through and kneel next to Phillip. She gently took his face in her hands. “It’s alright not to be okay. Especially after…” she trailed off and took his other hand into hers. Phillip blinked away tears as he looked up steadfastly towards the ceiling, his jaw set firmly as his eyes burned dangerously. “I’m okay.” He repeated, but the words felt like they had come from someone else. His voice didn’t sound like his own. He felt like he was floating, watching the scene play out from somewhere far, far away.

“That’s enough, you can all come back tomorrow when he’s stronger…” he heard a voice say over protests from his friends. He felt soft lips touch his forehead and a calloused hand run through his hair. “Get some sleep, we’ll be back tomorrow.” He was gone before Anne had finished saying her goodbyes.


End file.
